


the looking glass (so shiny and new)

by ivyalexandrias



Series: the world is ending in my dreams [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Michael Shelley, Bisexual Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical The Spiral Content (The Magnus Archives), Dissociation, Drinking, Eventual Relationships, Feelings Realization, He/Him Pronouns For Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, It/Its Pronouns For Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Mutual Pining, No beta we die like archival assistants, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Title from a Florence + the Machine Song, Trans Male Character, Trans Michael Shelley, alcohol mention, also adhd michael, and give them nice things, and he/him for michael!!!, because rabbit heart has HUGE michael vibes dont @ me, everyone needs therapy in this. every fucking one of them, gerry is just mentioned here but he shows up soon (:, helen and michael have a heart to heart!!!, helen is so incredibly tired please let her rest, hopefully you guys like reading it OSHDKDBJD, it's kind of in the background though, its not even explicitly stated hes just wearing flannel and ripped jeans. its obvious, okay listen u gotta give them a while they'll get there eventually, plus she/it for helen!!!, resurrect them, tags will be updated as fic progresses, this fic is my excuse to take every dead character i liked, this is SO self indulgent you guys have no idea, tims a bit of an asshole but he'll get better, unhealthy coping mechanisms (a little), will they get it? yeah no probably not, with every chapter we stray further from canon!!!, wlw and mlm solidarity thats what they are, your honor they're gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26906818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyalexandrias/pseuds/ivyalexandrias
Summary: "Th-Tha-That-That’s… not-" It trails off, and suddenly it seems to shrink, fear radiating off of it in waves of unknowable colors and unthinkable patterns, and if Jon wasn't so scared for his own life, he'd be fascinated with it's response."Oh. Oh no." Before Jon can open his mouth to ask what, exactly, Michael has realized, it's entire form shatters. He only has a second to register the vaguely humanoid mess of fractals and shifting, impossible shapes and colors, before Michaelscreams.
Relationships: Helen | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Martin Blackwood & Michael | The Distortion, Michael Shelley/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael | The Distortion/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: the world is ending in my dreams [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969408
Comments: 51
Kudos: 136





	1. what stays and what fades away

**Author's Note:**

> me: has two other fics  
> me: *starts this*
> 
> ( come follow me on tumblr @/mike--crew !)

Jon can barely comprehend everything Michael had just told him. It’s voice dripped with barely concealed disdain as it spoke of Gertrude, audible enough that Jon wasn’t entirely convinced that Michael Shelley was completely gone. Despite the thoughts swimming in his head, he’s still  _ incredibly  _ aware of Michael’s sharp fingers pressing against the hollow of his throat, brushing against the still healing cut Daisy had left there. 

As it talks, Michael sways back and forth gently, reminding Jon of videos he’s seen of cobras, waiting to strike. It’s eyes change color seemingly at random, neons fading and swirling into each other as Jon watches. It’s entire being occasionally fades out of focus, dissolving into incomprehensible spirals and colors and shapes, before snapping back into existence a moment later, as if it remembers that it has an audience.

Finally, after what seems like forever, it finishes it’s story, and Jon sucks in a gasping breath, and if Michael’s hand still wasn’t at his neck, he’d sag in his seat. As it is, he focuses on collecting himself, the statement having taken more out of him than usual, before speaking.

“But you… You never tried to take revenge on Gertrude?” Michael shakes its head, fractals cascading off it like water. It looks slightly perturbed, the expression incongruous with the lilt in its voice, and the way it holds itself.

“I had hoped that you would stop the Unknowing first, destroy the workings of I-Do-Not-Know-You. But instead you are here, and may bring it about faster. So better your death happens now.” It almost sounds… disappointed, Jon realizes. Disappointed in  _ him _ . A small flare of indignation flares in his chest, but it dies just as quickly when Michael flickers again, and Jon is reminded of how inhuman the creature before him is, how easily it could kill him.

He lingers on his words for a moment before speaking, careful not to let any compulsion leak into them, knowing that making that mistake before had never ended well for him. “Is there… anything I can do to stop you from killing me?”

Michael laughs, the sound distorted, and Jon can’t help but notice that it lags a moment behind its movements, echoing in his ears even after Michael had stopped laughing. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the look it gave him was pity, but he’s all too aware that compassion is far out of Michael’s capabilities. 

“If you scream loud enough the Circus may take notice of me, but… I promise you will die far more pleasantly with me than with them.” It coos, and Jon can’t suppress a shudder, knowing full well what will happen if he’s left to the circus. He’s silent for a long moment, ignoring it when Michael laughs again, looking amused by his internal struggle.    
  


It does have a point. Whatever madness might await him in it’s corridors, surely it’s better than being skinned alive, right? He doesn’t give himself time to ponder how fucked up it is that he’s being forced to choose between the two. He closes his eyes, taking a long breath, and nods.

“Okay.” Michael shudders, glowing for a moment with colors that do not exist and shapes that have too many sides, visibly excited. With startling precision, it frees his wrists from their bindings, yanking him to his feet with strength that didn’t match it’s scrawny frame. Static pops in his ears, and suddenly there is a door, pale yellow, with a shining brass handle. Despite himself, Jon can't help but recoil slightly, every instinct telling him to  _ run _ . He ignores it, instead walking purposefully towards the door, clenching his fists at his sides to stop them shaking.

"Good. Right this way." Michael sounds so nonchalant, less like it's leading Jon to his death, more like it's simply giving him directions, as if he was lost. Jon swallows dryly, steeling his nerves as he reaches out for the doorknob, even as every nerve in his body screams at the wrongness of the door's very existence, and turns the handle.

It's locked. He pauses, frowning, and tries it again, jiggling the handle a little harder, in case it's just stuck. Nothing. It refuses to budge. Beside him, Michael cocks it's head, making a questioning noise. "What?"

"It, er- it's locked." Jon mumbles, unable to make sense of it. Is this some cruel trick, one last joke before he's cast into its hallways? Michael laughs, the sound slightly strained.

"It's not." Jon shakes his head, jiggling the handle again to demonstrate. It still doesn't budge, despite his best efforts. "Why is it locked?"

Michael's form begins to shift and glitch faster than before, dizzying fractals cascading off of it, so bright and disconcerting that Jon has to look away. "It can't be!" Its voice lags again, lips moving out of tune with the sound. Jon steps back, throwing his hands in the air 

"Well, you try it!" Michael obliges, attempting to open the door. Even without looking directly at it, Jon can see the growing horror and confusion dawning on its face as it attempts to get back into its own home. It stammers, tripping over its own words as it tries to explain the impossible circumstance to itself.

"Th-Tha-That-That’s… not-" It trails off, and suddenly it seems to shrink, fear radiating off of it in waves of unknowable colors and unthinkable patterns, and if Jon wasn't so scared for his own life, he'd be fascinated with it's response.

"Oh. Oh no." Before Jon can open his mouth to ask what, exactly, Michael has realized, it's entire form shatters. He only has a second to register the vaguely humanoid mess of fractals and shifting, impossible shapes and colors, before Michael  _ screams _ . The sound is like nothing he's ever heard before, ear splitting and horrifying. There is no underlying melody, no hidden rhythm, just the pained cry of a dying animal. 

Jon watches in horror as Michael seems to  _ dissolve _ , its form shrinking and twisting, before it collapses to the ground, and there is nothing but horrible, stifling silence. Laying where Michael had just been, there is a young man, with a familiar shock of blonde hair, but that's where the similarities end. There are no impossible angles, no sharp edges where fingers should have been, just a man in clothes that look entirely too warm for the current weather. If not for the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest, Jon would think him dead

His attention is torn away from the crumpled form on the floor by the sound of a door opening, and Jon does a double take when he sees who stands just inside the threshold.

"Do you want to come in?" Helen Richardson says, and Jon is taken aback by her appearance. Everything that had been  _ wrong  _ about Michael, she seems to have adopted. Even though she  _ looks  _ normal enough at first glance, if Jon pays attention to any one feature for too long, the wrongness begins to creep through, seeping between the cracks in her facade.

"Wh… Helen? H-Helen Richardson? But… But y– Michael…" It's all too much to take in, especially with what had just happened, it's all Jon can do to form coherent words, wide eyes flicking between the door, and Helen, and Michael's slumped form on the floor. Jon isn't sure  _ how  _ he knows it is Michael, he just  _ does _ . Perks of working for an all seeing entity, he supposes. 

"Michael isn't me. Not now." Helen shakes her head, turning to look at the unconscious man, pity and disgust warring in her expression. Jon weighs that answer in his head, trying to formulate a response.

"What… happened?" He finally asks, and Helen sighs softly. "He got… distracted. Let feelings that shouldn’t have been his overwhelm me. I lost my way."

Jon nods slowly, turning the statement over mentally, examining it for any extra information that can be gleamed. He wonders if this is his doing, if giving its statement had… weakened it, somehow. Caused some sort of inner turmoil. He wouldn't be surprised, honestly.

"And now you're- you're Helen?" He asks tentatively, but she makes a so-so motion with her hand, and Jon can't help but notice the way it casts a too-long shadow on the ground, as if what he's seeing isn't matching up with reality.

"I don’t know. I never know, not really. Do I need a name?" Jon sighs internally, used to the Distortion's half answers and cryptic words by now. 

"I suppose not."

Helen- the Distortion- pauses for a moment, looking slightly conflicted. "Helen is… better than Michael." Jon understands a little better, at that, and he nods.

"But she's gone." His voice sounds defeated, even to his own ears. It was foolish, but he had still held out hope that maybe, just  _ maybe  _ he could have saved her. He supposes it's too late for that, though.

"Yes. As is- as  _ was _ Michael." She amends, casting a glance towards Michael's still-unconscious body. Jon hesitates for a long moment, stepping towards him.

"I… I can't leave him here." Helen starts, looking surprised, and Jon watches with some interest as she distorts at the edges for a moment.

"But… he is-"

"I  _ know _ , I just…" Jon huffs, unable to justify himself even as he scoops Michael into his arms, carrying him bridal style. The other man doesn't respond, other than to exhale softly, face screwing up slightly before relaxing again.

"I  _ can't  _ leave him here, not in good conscience. Surely you can see it too. He's not… part of you, anymore. He's just human."

"For the most part." Helen replies under her breath, but she opens the door wider all the same. Jon breathes a sigh of relief- he hadn't been sure she'd let him take the blonde with him- before steeling his nerves and stepping through the door.

It's an assault on his senses from every angle, and it's all he can do to keep his grasp on Michael as he walks, doing his best to tune out everything but the solid shape of Helen. She leads him through the corridors, seemingly unbothered by the unnatural place, her steps light. 

After what could be a minute or a week, she stops at a yellow door, identical to the one she had stepped out of. "This is your stop, Archivist." Jon nods, worrying at his lip.

"Thank you, Helen." She nods back, and the smile she offers him is only a little bit terrifying. Jon adjusts his grip on Michael so he can open the door, stepping through, into his office. He turns to thank Helen, but the door is already closing, and fizzling out of existence.

Jon sighs, gently laying Michael down on the couch opposite his desk, before stepping back. "Now, what am I going to do with you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> florence and the machine - no light, no light
> 
> come find me on tumblr @/mike--crew!


	2. it doesn't take much to make me feel small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael strips mechanically while the water heats up, feeling like he's floating a foot above his body. He regards himself in the mirror momentarily, taking in his appearance. At first glance, he looks just how he remembers himself from before the Spiral, but if he looks too hard, there are obvious differences. 
> 
> His eyes are too bright, a neon green compared to the gentle olive color they'd been before. As he watches, they shift to a violent purple, to a deep ocean blue, to a shocking yellow. He looks away, not wanting to see it anymore. His top surgery scars are still there, as are the rest of the scars flecking his skin, but they're all faded, not standing out as much against his skin as they used to. 
> 
> He opens his mouth, slightly too-long tongue lolling out as he pokes at his teeth. There's a sharp sting on the pad of his thumb, and he pulls back quickly, examining the blood beading on the surface where he'd broken the skin. Teeth are still sharp, good to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't expect daily updates i'm just as surprised at you are at how fast i wrote this.

Michael hisses as he sits up, registering the dull ache in the back of his head, pounding in his skull, and he makes a low noise, rubbing his temples. 

He pauses, upon realizing that his hands are  _ not  _ knives, and he is decidedly more corporeal than he's used to. A cursory glance around him reveals that he's not in the hallways, as he had first assumed, instead he's… in the Archivist's office? If he didn't know better, he'd say it was Gertrude's office, but the furniture had changed, and the desk was messier than she'd ever kept it.

Carefully, he gets to his feet, leaning on the wall as he makes his way towards the door, trying to sort through his memories as he does so. They're hazy at best, he can only recall flashes of blinding pain, a scream that he can barely recognize as his own, and the distinct feeling of  _ falling apart _ , all too familiar. He holds back a shudder at the reminder of his time in Sannikov Land, watching his own reflection deteriorate in the funhouse mirrors lining the walls of the hallways he was soon to become.

His thought process is cut off by the door opening, and every sense immediately goes on full alert as another man walks in. He wears a flannel shirt over a pair of ripped jeans, and despite having the appearance of an archival assistant, Michael had never seen the man in his life.

"Hey, Jon, could you- oh, shit, hello. What the fuck?" He startled when he spotted Michael, and if he wasn't so confused, Michael was pretty sure he'd be a little embarrassed by his appearance. Tangled hair and years old winter gear was probably not the best look on him. As it was, he settled for shrinking back from the other man, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"Hey- uh… I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? My name's Tim, I'm an archival assistant. You're safe… kind of. As safe as you can be, here." Michael eyes him for a long moment, before letting himself collapse back onto the couch he'd just been on. 

"'M name is Michael." He mumbles back, wincing at the raspy quality in his voice. Tim rubs the back of his neck, sighing softly, and Michael notices belatedly that he looks just as tense as Michael feels. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a memory floats to the surface, of him watching Tim and another man- another assistant, presumably- wander through his hallways, unable to find an escape, only ever going deeper in.

"Yeah, I kinda gathered that. Look, I'm gonna go grab Jon, you sit tight, okay?" He's gone before Michael has a chance to ask who Jon is, but he's pretty sure he has an idea, if the name plate on the desk in front of him is any indication.

_ Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist _ . Michael can't help but wonder what happened to Gertrude, how long it had taken for the new Archivist to take her place. How long she'd been gone. He stares down at his hands as he follows this train of thought, trying to comb through his fragile, wispy memories to see if he'd learned anything as the Distortion. It was odd, to see his proportions so… normal. No extra joints, no too-sharp fingers, nothing. Just normal, human hands.

His thought process is interrupted again when the door opens, and this time two people come through it. Tim had returned, and Michael jolts as soon as he sees the man next to him, the word  _ Archivist  _ slipping unbidden from his lips. As soon as it does, he makes a low noise in his throat, clapping a hand over his mouth. He mumbles a 'Sorry!' through his fingers, and Jon just smiles softly, although it's obviously somewhat strained. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of Tim hurriedly slipping out the door, seemingly eager to get away. Michael can't say he blames him, if he's being honest.

"It's quite alright. How are you- how are you feeling, Michael?" Jon hesitates slightly, seemingly unsure of how to speak to Michael, which he understands. He mulls over it for a long moment, not entirely sure how to respond. How  _ is  _ he feeling, he really doesn't know. 

"Like shit." Is what he finally decides on, and the blunt finality of the statement seems to startle a laugh out of the other man. In all honestly, Michael has a lot more words to describe how he's feeling, something a lot more along the lines of  _ it feels like someone put me through the blender and put me together all wrong _ , but his throat hurts too much to form all those words, so he doesn't.

Jon gingerly holds something out to him, and it takes a long second for Michael to realize it's a glass of water. The first time he reaches for it, he just swipes halfheartedly at the air, accounting for anatomy that isn't there anymore. He manages to grab it on his second try, and it takes a monumental effort to politely sip it, instead of drinking the whole glass immediately. 

Everything feels slightly off, like his perception of the world has shifted a little to the left, not enough that anything is  _ really  _ wrong, but enough that nothing looks like it should, ordinary objects appearing foreign and strange. He's busy admiring the way the water in the glass distorts and fractures his hand when he realizes Jon is speaking to him again, and he glances up with a soft 'huh?'.

"I asked if you wanted to use the showers. There are some here, and I have some clothes you could borrow. I-I figured you wouldn't want to stay in those much longer." He gestures to Michael's outfit, and he suddenly realizes that he  _ definitely  _ doesn't want to be in them any longer, and he immediately nods.

"Um- yes please." Jon nods, offering him a hand, and Michael tentatively takes it, letting Jon lead him. The archives are quiet, it appears most everyone has gone home already, but he catches sight of two people watching him from around a corner. They duck out of sight as soon as he notices them, and he sighs gently. When he looks back up, they're at the small bathroom/shower combo that he remembers from his time at the Institute, although it appears to have been renovated since he last visited it.

Jon hovers nervously nearby, frowning slightly. "I can ah- leave a change of clothes on the sink. There's- I'll leave you be, I guess." Michael nods a thanks, not trusting himself to speak again just yet, and Jon all but runs off. Michael can't really blame him, since their only interactions before this had been when Michael was a horrible creature of madness, seemingly deadset on driving everyone it met insane. Not the best first impression, he'll admit. 

He strips mechanically while the water heats up, feeling like he's floating a foot above his body. He regards himself in the mirror momentarily, taking in his appearance. At first glance, he looks just how he remembers himself from before the Spiral, but if he looks too hard, there are obvious differences. 

His eyes are too bright, a neon green compared to the gentle olive color they'd been before. As he watches, they shift to a violent purple, to a deep ocean blue, to a shocking yellow. He looks away, not wanting to see it anymore. His top surgery scars are still there, as are the rest of the scars flecking his skin, but they're all faded, not standing out as much against his skin as they used to. 

He opens his mouth, slightly too-long tongue lolling out as he pokes at his teeth. There's a sharp sting on the pad of his thumb, and he pulls back quickly, examining the blood beading on the surface where he'd broken the skin. Teeth are still sharp, good to know. 

Before he can get too distracted examining himself, Michael forces himself to step into the shower, barely wincing at the scalding temperature, but not bothering to turn it down. In a way, the heat wakes him up, brings him back to the present slightly. Slowly, methodically, he combs his hands through his hair, being patient even when they occasionally get stuck in the wild curls. After what seems like forever, he finally manages to get all the major tangles out, though he dreads eventually taking a brush to it. 

Still feeling slightly detached from his body, he quickly washes off, not wanting to spend longer looking at his own body than he has to. Even the inviting heat of the shower isn't enough to get him to linger, and before long he's driven out, toweling off as he steps out of the stall. There's a small pile of clothes on the sink, and Michael pulls them on gratefully.

They're a bit big on him, the large sweatshirt essentially hanging off of him, but he's thankful for it, and he has to admit that it's  _ wonderfully _ soft. Before he can get distracted by his own reflection again, there's a knock at the door. Michael starts, and quickly walks over to open it, and is met with a startled looking Jon.

"Oh, hey. I was just about to ah- come see if you were okay." Michael realizes with distant amusement that Jon has to crane his head up slightly to meet his gaze. Another left over from the Distortion, he supposes. He nods slightly, clearing his throat a little before he speaks.

"Uh- yeah, 'm fine. Yeah." He fidgets with the sleeve of the sweatshirt, tugging absently at the threads. 

"Good. Yeah. That's good." Jon nods back, and the awkwardness between the two of them is so tangible Michael can't help but laugh. To his relief, his laugh doesn't sound like it used to. There's no distorted quality, just a soft, genuine sound. Jon stares at him curiously, but his expression quickly melts into concern, and Michael belatedly realizes he's started to cry. 

He brings a hand up to wipe his tears, and when he pulls back to look at his hand, the liquid is swirling and opalescent, filled with thousands of tiny fractals. Jon hesitantly grabs his other hand and leads him to a small sofa, guiding him to sit down. 

"Sorry, I-I just- it's all just…" Michael trails off, gesturing vaguely with a bitter chuckle.

"A lot?" Jon supplies, and he nods. It  _ is  _ a lot, and everything seems to come crashing down on him at once like a wave. It doesn't help that Jon is eying him like he's going to attack the other man at any second, but he supposes it is somewhat justified.

He's not sure when it happens, but at some point Jon drapes a blanket (where did he get that?) over Michael, and he must cry himself back to sleep, because the next thing he knows, darkness is enveloping his vision as he tilts to the side, leaning on the arm of the chair. Absently, he thinks that he should stop falling asleep on Institute furniture, since he doesn't even work there anymore, before he slips into unconsciousness, praying that he doesn't dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was tired when i wrote this so please excuse any typos i did my best. feel free to point them out. 
> 
> next chapter: martin makes tea, elias needs a fucking break
> 
> crywank - only everyone can judge me
> 
> (come find me on tumblr @/mike--crew where i refuse to shut up about tma and a81)


	3. i don't know where to put my hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just, I really don't know what to do with him. I had… I had my doubts, I didn't know if he really wasn't the Distortion anymore, but looking at him… Martin, he's so small." Jon rambles, and Martin nods, stirring some sugar into a second mug.
> 
> "Do you think he takes his tea with milk?"
> 
> "Martin! Focus!" Jon huffs, but there's no real bite behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: don't expect daily updates  
> me, a day later: (updates again)

Jon paces back and forth, running a hand through his hair exasperatedly. Martin pushes a cup of tea into his hands, and he gives the other man a grateful look, sipping it quietly.

"I just, I really don't know what to do with him. I had… I had my doubts, I didn't know if he really wasn't the Distortion anymore, but looking at him… Martin, he's so  small ." Jon rambles, and Martin nods, stirring some sugar into a second mug.

"Do you think he takes his tea with milk?"

" Martin! Focus!" Jon huffs, but there's no real bite behind it. He's not even really talking about any one thing, he's just throwing his emotions at Tim and Martin and hoping they make sense.

"I think you're right not to trust him right away, but you should give him a chance." The other man offers, and Jon nods, sighing again.

"You're right, you're right." Martin grabs the second cup of tea, walking off towards the door. "I know I am, Jon. I'm going to take this to him, he can have it when he wakes up." With that, he disappears out the door, footsteps receding down the hall.

Jon turns to Tim, taking another drink of his tea. This is the part of the conversation he was dreading. "Tim, listen. I was thinking of letting Michael stay in the Archives-"

" Hell  no!" Tim's snapping before Jon can even finish his sentence. "I mean, no offense, but I am  not  working down here all day with him around."

"It'll just be for a bit, until he can get his own flat. Tim, he doesn't really have anywhere else to go. He doesn't even have a  job . Do you suggest we just kick him to the curb?" Tim scoffs.

"There's no  we , Jon. You're the one who brought him here. Besides, can't he just- I dunno- stay with you?" Jon blinks, raising an eyebrow. Tim is silent for a moment, before sighing.

"Right, you're staying with your mate. Okay, still! I don't want him staying here! He might not be actively trying to kill us, but I still sure as hell don't trust him." Jon opens his mouth to argue, but pauses. Tim  does  have a point, it'll definitely be hard to trust Michael for a while, even if he's changed. Tim smiles smugly at him, knowing full well he'd won the argument for now, but Martin comes back in the room before Jon can come up with a retort. 

"Oh, for God's sake you two, I leave the room for thirty seconds. Listen, I'm- I'm on Jon's side here. We let him stay until he can get back on his feet, then, hey! Maybe we don't ever hear from from again!" He pointedly ignores Tim's grumble of 'fat chance'. "Besides, we have bigger things to worry about, here. What's Elias going to say about this? It's a miracle he hasn't come down here to yell at us yet, honestly!" Martin adds, and Jon frowns as he realizes that the other man is right. 

"Now that I think about it, he never seemed to notice when the Distortion visited, either. Or, if he did, he never said anything. Maybe it can… shield itself, somehow?" Tim rolls his eyes, standing from his spot at the small table, finishing off his tea and placing it in the table.

"I say we stop thinking too hard about it, and we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I don't know about you two, but I'm going to go  try  to work, and make sure to ignore Michael as much as physically possible." With that, he disappears through the door of the breakroom, seemingly going back to his desk. Jon sighs, placing his own half finished cup on the counter.

"He has a point, we'll deal with Elias finding out about him when it happens. I'm going to go back to my office, maybe record a statement. Let me know when he wakes up, alright?" Martin nods, and Jon offers him a smile, before leaving the other man in the break room, retreating to the office. He spares Michael a glance as he passes him, the other man still curled on the couch, breathing even, before shutting his door behind him. He  did  have some work to do, even if he suspected he wouldn't be able to focus much on it.

-

Martin's busy researching yet another statement giver when his focus is disrupted by movement in the corner of his eye. He glances over, watching quietly as Michael stirs from his position on the couch, sitting up and combing his hands through his hair. He seems to go to pull it back, before realizing he doesn't have anything to tie it back with, and he instead lets it fall again, blonde curls tumbling over his shoulders. 

He looks up, meeting Martin's gaze, and Martin is struck by how vibrant his eyes are, seemingly every color at once. For a moment, Martin entertains the idea of simply returning to his work, but his more empathetic side wins out, and he can't ignore the confused and slightly scared expression on the other man's face. He pushes away from his desk, walking over to where Michael sits, hands folded neatly in his lap.

"Hey, you sleep well?" He offers Michael a careful smile, and he hesitantly returns it.

"I didn't dream. That's… a good thing, I think. It means I didn't have to remember anything." His voice is still rough when he speaks, but not as much as it had apparently been when he'd first woken up. He fidgets absently with the sleeves of his borrowed sweatshirt, and Martin fumbles for a response.

"That's- that's good. I ah- I made you some tea," He gestures vaguely to the mug on the table, and Michael blinks, seemingly having just noticed it. "I don't know how you take it, sorry." The blonde grabs the cup, taking a small sip, before offering Martin a hesitant smile.

"It's good. I, ah… thank you, um-" He trails off awkwardly, and Martin blinks.

"Oh, sorry! I'm Martin. I'm an archival assistant, like Tim." Michael nods, and opens his mouth for a moment, before hesitating, then shutting it again with a small chuckle, although there's no humor to it.

"I was gonna introduce myself but I… guess you already know me, huh?" His tone is resigned, filled with a self deprecating sort of mirth, and Martin has to resist the urge to reach out and pat him on the shoulder, instead just offering a sympathetic smile.

"I suppose I do." He starts to say something else, before sitting up a little straighter. "Oh, yeah! Jon asked me to get him when you woke up. I assume he wants to talk to you." At the anxious look that crosses Michael's face, he immediately backtracks. "Oh, no, it's nothing bad! He probably just has some questions, or something."

The worry doesn't quite leave Michael's face, but it seems to dissipate somewhat, so Martin counts that as a win. He stands, leaving Michael with his tea as he walks down to Jon's office. 

He hesitates before opening the door, hearing Jon speak, using the voice he always does when recording statements. He knocks on the door, and there's a small rustle before Jon responds.

"Uh, come in!" Martin opens the door, raising a hand in greeting, and Jon nods back. "Hello Martin. What can I do for you?" 

Martin gestures vaguely behind him, shrugging. "Just coming in to let you know uh, Michael's up." Jon perks up slightly at that, giving him a thumbs up.

"Alright, let me finish this statement, then I'll come grab him." He pauses, worrying at his lip for a moment. "Is he… okay?"

Martin makes a 'so-so' motion with his hand, shrugging slightly. "He seems nervous. I… think he thinks we're gonna kick him out." Jon's eyes go wide momentarily, and he rocks back in his chair.

"Oh,  lord  no. I'm not  that  cruel!" 

"Never said you were." Martin chuckles. "I'll let you finish that up." He slips out the door, shutting it behind him. When he comes back into the room he'd left Michael, the blonde is locked in an intense staring contest with Tim, neither of them wanting to move. Michael looks uncomfortable, and a little worried, while Tim's expression is nothing but thinly veiled anger and disdain. Martin pointedly walks up to his coworker, placing his hands on Tim's shoulders and steering him away.

"Can we  please  not do this now. I know you don't like him, but he's  here , whether you like it or not, Tim." Tim shrugs him off, grumbling.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm going back to work, you can stop directing me, Martin." He lets go of Tim's shoulders, letting the other man return to his desk. 

-

Jon leans back in his chair, sighing as he clicks the tape recorder off, letting himself relish the odd rush of energy the statements have been giving him lately. He wasn't sure  why,  but he definitely preferred it to the drained feeling he used to get when he finished them.

He replaces the statement in its folder, standing from his desk. He supposes he should go speak to Michael, and hopefully relieve some of his fears, if Martin was right about him worrying he'd be kicked out. 

Jon walks over to his office door, slipping out and shutting it behind him with a quiet  click . He looks up, and freezes in place. A startled looking Michael meets his eyes from across the room, giving him a pleading look. From where he stands above the blonde, Elias clasps his hands together.

"Ah, Jon, just who I was looking for. Now, could you explain  what , exactly, is going on here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most of this chapter was written in the airport/on a plane so pls excuse any typos
> 
> mitski - francis forever
> 
> come find me on tumblr @/mike--crew!


	4. things are getting too hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael tries not to think of the last time he boarded a plane. Tries not to think of the way Gertrude's eyes grew cold and calculating the closer they got to that land that did not exist, the closer they drew to his ultimate end. Tries not to think of the way his head swam with vertigo, somehow knowing that the Vast had nothing to do with it.
> 
> He doesn't succeed, but he tries. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a little longer, i realized that with what i did to the timeline i had to fuck around with a BUNCH of canon so i could get jon to america n shit. im stupid ❤. anyways gay people on a trip what crimes will they commit  
> (should i have waited till site traffic was higher to post this? yeah probably. did i?? no! its 00:07 for me right now, babey!)

Michael makes eye contact with Jon from across the room, silently pleading for the other man to save him as Elias towers over him. Jon looks startled, and Michael's eyes flick back up to Elias when he speaks again.

Jon fumbles for words momentarily, and Michael scans the room. Tim is standing in the corner with a smug look on his face, arms crossed, while Martin hovers nervously in the doorway, frowning. He can't resist the urge to fidget, drumming his fingers uncomfortably on his leg as he avoids meeting Elias' piercing gaze.

"Elias, I-" Jon falters, shifting when Elias' eyes turn to him. "We were… going to tell you."

The older man raised an eyebrow, and Michael tried to take advantage of his distraction to wiggle away, but he immediately fixes Michael with a sharp stare again, and he stops.

"And when, exactly, were you going to tell me that you were harboring the  _ Distortion _ in  _ my  _ archives?" Michael winces a little at that, the reminder of what he was. 

"That's not what he is anymore, Elias. He's human. He's not a threat." Jon says defiantly, lifting his chin. Elias just scoffs, gripping Michael's chin, tilting his face up, forcing the blonde to look him in the eyes.

"Oh, I have to argue. He may not be directly affiliated with the Spiral anymore, but he's nowhere near human, and he is  _ definitely  _ still a threat." Michael swallows dryly, clenching his hands into fists where they rest in his lap, missing the sharp, claw-like fingers he possessed when he was still part of the Distortion, if only so he can rip Elias' throat clean out. 

He must sense Michael's thoughts, somehow, because he laughs, shoving his head to the side. "You're all fools, you know. But, I am… interested, in how this will unfold. And I know that if he tries to hurt any of you, I will be able to stop it. So, I will allow this to continue. I will be keeping a close eye on all of you." He straightens up, allowing Michael to slump back onto the couch with a relieved breath, and dusts off his suit, although he suspects it's more for show than anything. 

Jon doesn't back down until Elias leaves the room, and his footsteps recede up the stairs, then he finally turns to look at Michael. "Are you… okay?" Michael shrugs, curled slightly into himself.

"I was scared of him. Even… even as the Spiral, he scared me. Guess that fear never went away." He replies, in lieu of an answer. Even when he's not back to his old self, it appears he still tends to speak in half truths and convoluted sentences. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

-

The next few days pass with little incident. Michael refuses to simply sit around while the others work, so he does his best to help with statements. Jon's hesitant at first, but Michael insists that Jon gives him ones related to the Spiral, and he tries his hardest to offer what information he can offer about the victims, from what he can remember. He's always more help with more recent statements, ones from the past few years. The ones that are clear in his mind, and have him waking up in a cold sweat at night, haunted by the fear of his victims. 

Something he learns about Jon, in the time he stays in the Archives, is that the other man's sleep habits are just as messed up as his are. It's a common occurrence that the two of them will make eye contact from across the room late at night, Michael pouring over a statement, or reading one of the books Martin had lent him, Jon on his way to get something from the break room fridge, or  _ sometimes  _ on his way back to… wherever he stays the night when he doesn't fall asleep in the Archives. 

Neither of them mention it to the other, but, if Michael sometimes shuts Jon's door all the way when the other man passes out at his desk in the middle of the day, well, who's going to tell him off. It's not like Jon can be fired. Besides, he needs the sleep, Michael can tell. 

Tim still doesn't like talking to him, shooting him apprehensive glances every time Michael gets too close, and blatantly ignoring him if he tries to start up a conversation, but he's stubborn, and he still tries. Martin, on the other hand, warms up to him surprisingly easy. More often than not, he's the one Michael finds himself quietly chatting to when work's slow, or before Martin heads back to his flat after work. 

The two of them get along well enough, but Michael still catches Martin watching him with an uneasy expression sometimes, and the other man refuses to meet his eyes. He wishes he could resent Martin for it, but he knows that, even after everything, he's still not human, and he's still uncanny enough that it's hard to hold a conversation with him without noticing it. It's easy enough to get used to, after a while, but that doesn't make it any easier.

-

Michael states flatly at Jon, blinking in surprise. "I-I'm sorry,  _ what _ ?"

"Do you want to go to China with me? It's a trip I need to take, I'd  _ honestly  _ rather not be alone in a foreign country, especially with what's been going on recently, and it's Elias' money anyways." Michael laughs dryly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

"Well, if it's his money, then alright." He jokes, still not entirely sure if Jon's joking or not. One the one hand, it'd be nice to get out of the Archives for once, and he'd feel a little better knowing Jon wasn't travelling on his own. On the other hand, what the fuck, why is Jon asking  _ him _ . He voices as much, and Jon shrugs.

"Tim would say no, Martin would try and convince me to stay, and… I honestly don't have anyone else to ask." Oh, so he's just a last resort, then. Jon's last choice, a failsafe. Whatever, at least he got considered in the first place. He shrugs.

"Alright, I suppose. It will certainly be better than staying here all day, no matter how much I may enjoy Martin's company." Jon grins at him, rocking back on his heels. 

"Alright, I'll make sure we've both got plane tickets. The closest flight I could find was Tuesday, does that work?" Michael fixes him with a blank stare, and Jon chuckles sheepishly. "Ah, right. Not much else to do." He nods, and Jon shifts slightly, quickly retreating to his office. It's only until Michael catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror a few minutes later that he realizes how quickly the colors in his eyes are changing, shifting and melting into each other in a dizzying slideshow of neon. 

Michael tries not to think of the last time he boarded a plane. Tries not to think of the way Gertrude's eyes grew cold and calculating the closer they got to that land that did not exist, the closer they drew to his ultimate end. Tries not to think of the way his head swam with vertigo, somehow knowing that the Vast had nothing to do with it.

He doesn't succeed, but he tries. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD this was hard to write??? for some reason??? i know exactly what i want to do with michael and jon when theyre in china/america but i have NO idea what to do when im getting them there. i did my best
> 
> tegan and sara - i won't be left
> 
> come find me on tumblr @/mike--crew!


	5. like they're waiting for your guard to fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon laughs slightly, shaking his head. "Yeah, trust me when I say I know the feeling. The two remained like that for a moment, before Jon realized he was still holding Michael's hand, and he quickly let go, training his expression to remain neutral. 
> 
> Michael's eyes flickered, momentarily turning a bright pink before he quickly looked away, taking a large drink of his coffee. Jon dutifully trained his eyes on the floor until it was time to board. Despite his earlier worries, Michael appears at least marginally less worried, which Jon counts as a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW sorry for the wait yall. life has been SUPER hectic for me lately bc im in the process of moving :') anyways take some idiotic gay people 💖

Jon drums his fingers on his leg, watching the sunrise outside the window he sits in front of. Michael's wearing another one of his stolen jumpers, clutching his cup of coffee like a lifeline, bright eyes scanning the airport nervously.

In the weeks since Jon had brought him back from the Circus, he'd learned how to control some of his more… inhuman aspects. From what he'd told Jon, it still took conscious concentration, but he could subdue the neon colors of his eyes, and make it so his teeth weren't as sharp and, for lack of a better term as sharklike as usual. His hair was pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck, though several strands had escaped to frame his face. He kept checking his ticket again, and on the third repetition, Jon reached out to grab his hand.

"Listen. I _know_ you're nervous, and you have every right to be, but I promise you'll be alright, okay?" Michael's eyes flicked up to meet his, flickering back to unnaturally bright neons for a moment before returning to their forced grey color. He sighed, nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know, I'm just…" He trails off, frowning. "Logically, I know I don't have anything to be afraid of, and I know that I'll be fine, but there's this little part of my brain that keeps whispering _'what if'_ at me, and I can't get it to shut up."

Jon laughs slightly, shaking his head. "Yeah, trust me when I say I know the feeling. The two remained like that for a moment, before Jon realized he was still holding Michael's hand, and he quickly let go, training his expression to remain neutral. 

Michael's eyes flickered, momentarily turning a bright pink before he quickly looked away, taking a large drink of his coffee. Jon dutifully trained his eyes on the floor until it was time to board. Despite his earlier worries, Michael appears at least marginally less worried, which Jon counts as a success.

-

Fortunately, the trip went easy enough. Michael spent most of both flights either dozing on and off, or looking out the window, while Jon alternated between reading, doing research, and sleeping. 

He did his best to ignore the smell(? taste?) radiating from several of the passengers. The Vast's marking was practically dripping off of them, causing them to cast nervous glances out of the window, like they were expecting the ground to drop away at any moment. Others were tainted with the Corruption, or the Buried, or… the Spiral. 

He didn't notice how jittery he was getting until Michael knocked him in the shoulder. Jon sucked in a sharp breath, turning in his seat to face him. Michael's eyes were sympathetic. 

"It helps if you focus on- on what you can sense, other than the fear. Don't try to ignore it, just try to block it out, keep your attention on other things." Jon nodded jerkily, doing what Michael had told him. Slowly, the power that thrummed in the back of his head subsided, leaving him feeling relieved, if slightly drained. 

He slumped in his seat, sighing. "Thank you, Michael. How did you… know?" Michael laughed sheepishly, smiling weakly.

"I… get the same way, sometimes. It's not _nearly_ as bad as it was when I was…" He gestured vaguely, forming claws with his fingers. "Y'know. But, it- it- it still happens sometimes. I get this _urge_. To- to lie, to trick, to confuse. So I figured out ways to block it out, and not act on it." He kept his voice quiet, looking a little hesitant to share, as if Jon finding out would be the final straw, and he'd finally run out of hospitality. 

Instead, Jon did his best to give him a comforting smile, twisting fully in the uncomfortable airplane seat to face Michael. " _Thank you_ , Michael. Really. For telling me how to deal with it and… for trusting me with that." 

Michael visibly relaxed, smiling slightly at him. "Of course, Jon." He started to say something else, but they were cut off by the overhead lights dinging on. Jon twisted back to a normal position in his seat, focusing on what Michael had told him, even as the fear radiating off of the few in the plane who had been marked by the Vast doubled once the plane started to descend. 

-

Jon set his suitcase down on his bed, listening to the sound of the city outside. Michael groaned, flopping facedown on the bed.

"God, I hate planes." Jon laughed, unzipping his bag, and grabbing some night clothes out of it. 

"Well, I have some bad news for you, we're gonna have to fly back after this." Michael waved his hand vaguely in Jon's direction, making a despairing noise.

"Oh my god, don't remind me. I have _disorders,_ Jon, I can't sit still for that long, it's- it _pains_ me." Jon slipped into the bathroom for a moment, leaving the door open as he quickly changed, splashing some water on his face. "Yes, I'm very aware of what it's like, Michael. Bathroom's free, if you want it." 

The blonde pushed himself up, looking over at Jon. His eyes were a bright, cotton candy blue, flecked with gold. "Would you judge me horribly if I slept in my clothes? Because, right now, this is the most comfortable bed I've ever lay down on." Jon's lips quirked up into a smile.

"Well, that's just the last straw, Michael. I can tolerate everything else you've done, but sleeping in your clothes? It's too much." He was obviously joking, but he still carefully monitored Michael's expression, like he always did when bringing up the other man's past. To his relief, Michael just dissolved into laughter, eyes turning a cheerful yellow.

The other man unceremoniously flopped onto his back on the bed he'd claimed, laughter trailing off. "In all seriousness, though, I'm so tired. You gonna stay up much later?" Jon shook his head.

"No, I'm rather tired as well, I think I'll go to bed too. I'll be heading to the research center in the morning after breakfast. Which, by the way, I've been meaning to ask, would you like to come with me?"

Michael frowned, apparently thinking. "I mean, if you want. I don't, ah…" He trailed off weakly. "I don't remember ever going there, before. So I don't think being recognized will be too much of a problem, you know?" Jon nodded.

"If you'd rather not, I completely understand. Fair warning, though, I might recruit you for some research if you decide to stay in the room." Michael shrugged, reaching back to tug his hair out of it's bun, blonde curls falling away to frame his face, not unlike a halo. 

"That _was_ my job. Research, I mean. I'm fine with staying here if you are." Jon set his suitcase down on the floor next to the dresser, before falling into bed himself. "Well, that settles it, I suppose." He paused, trying to form his words correctly.

"Thank you, Michael. For coming here with me, for- for what you said on the plane, all of it. I'm glad I'm not alone here."

Michael was silent for a moment, and when Jon glanced over, his eyes were a stormy blue. Eventually, they faded back to a dull red.

"Goodnight, Jon." He flicked off the light, plunging his half of the room into darkness. Jon sighed gently.

"Goodnight, Michael." He turned off his own lamp, before laying down, falling asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not specifically mentioned but when michael says "I have _disorders_ , Jon!" i mean he's on the spectrum and has adhd (: because i have adhd and i will rub my dirty little neurodivergent hands on every character i see
> 
> built to spill - carry the zero
> 
> (come find me on tumblr @/mike--crew ! i never shut up about a81 and tma!!!!)


	6. i've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helen is silent for a long moment, and he has to check to make sure she hasn't left. Eventually, she sighs, form skipping like a VHS tape as she stands. "Thank you, Michael. I am… sorry, for holding you up. I'm sure your Archivist is waiting for you." She pauses, smiling ruefully at him.
> 
> "I think I will keep fighting a little longer. I do not want to become a monster quite yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helen and michael helen and michael helen and michael helen and michael helen and michael helen and michael helen and m

Michael sighed gently to himself, unable to sit still. He'd been doing his best to do what research he could, but without access to Gertrude's files, he couldn't do much. She'd never shared much about the rituals, or what she was doing to stop them. That had always been dumped on Gerard, the goth man he'd noticed hanging out around the Archivist occasionally.

Unfortunately, he'd died back in 2014. According to what hospital records he'd been able to find, it was an untreated brain tumor. Michael winced sympathetically, cancer was a bad way to go. But, that didn't help him. Gerard was still dead, which meant that was a dead end. So, he was stuck. 

He worried absently at his bottom lip, not noticing he'd cut himself on his abnormally sharp teeth until the taste of copper flooded his tongue. He winced, wiping his mouth, glancing down at the small smear of blood on the back of his hand. Oops.

A glance at the clock revealed that it was barely 11. Jon had said he wouldn't be back until at least 2, which meant he had plenty of time to take a walk, stretch his legs. He'd be back before Jon even left the research center. Yeah, he'd be fine.

Michael pulled on his boots, which sat by the door, quickly tying the laces. He grabbed his sweatshirt from where it was draped across the edge of the bed, shutting the laptop before slipping out the door, and heading down the hall. One of the advantages of travelling so much with Gertrude, he mused, was that he had a basic grip on several languages, including Chinese. He couldn't hold any complicated conversations, or anything like that, but he knew the basics.

He didn't really pay attention to where he was walking, he just let himself wander. After a while, though, he realized he'd passed the same street sign at least five times. He stopped in his tracks, boots scuffing the ground as he spun on his heel, starting in the other direction. He walked a straight line in the other direction, but after a couple dozen yards, he passed the same sign. 

"Okay, that's not ideal… uh, hello?" Michael called out, voice hesitant. There was no one else on the street around him, and no response. Not that he was really expecting one, but still. 

"Alright, okay, really not liking this, gonna be honest." He glanced around, pulling his phone out of his pocket. No signal, of course. He pivoted again, scanning the street and surrounding buildings. His blood suddenly ran cold when he caught sight of a familiar yellow door, brass handle glinting in the sun. 

Slowly, he walked towards it, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Okay, alright, uh huh. Just- just walk towards the door. The door that belongs to someone who probably wants to kill you. No big deal, Michael. Just a normal Tuesday."

An echoing, distorted laugh came from nearby, and he yelped, spinning in a circle, trying to locate its owner, but he couldn't. When he faced the door again, it was open, and Helen Richardson was standing just inside of it. 

Her hair flowed like it was underwater, and her entire form shifted and swirled as she unfurled from the doorway, too long fingers gripping the door frame as she came towards him. Michael stumbled back, yelping as his boot caught on the pavement behind him, and he went sprawling. He winced at the twinge of pain when he caught himself, pavement scraping his palms. Helen laughed again, the sound rippling off of her form in bright, blinding colors. 

"Do not worry, Michael. If I were going to hurt you, I would have already. If I wanted you dead, you would be bleeding out on the concrete as we speak." She held out a hand, and Michael stared at it for a long moment, before cautiously accepting it. Her long fingers cut into his skin, and he hissed sharply at the lines of pain that shot through his hand, blood dripping down onto the pavement below. She pulled him to his feet before releasing him. 

Michael brought his hand up quickly to inspect it. His palms were scraped from his fall, and long, thin gashes ran across it, sluggishly leaking blood. "You know, somehow I'm not very comforted by that." He mumbled to himself, and Helen laughed again.

"Of course not. Although, I suppose it is not in my nature anymore to be… comforting. Quite the opposite, in fact." Michael hesitated, frowning.

"I- listen, Helen. I am  _ so  _ sorry. I-if I had  _ at all  _ been in my right mind, I would've stopped it, I would've tried to help, I mean-" Helen cut him off with a wave of her hand, shaking her head.

"There was nothing you could have done, Michael. By the time you were free of the Distortion's hold, it was too late for me." Michael huffed, rubbing his still bleeding hand quietly. "I know that, just- let me wallow here for a second, please." 

"If that makes you feel better." Michael nodded, staring at the ground for a moment, before speaking again.

"Why did you… come here? I- did you… need me, for something? I-I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just-" Helen cut him off.

"No, I don't need you for anything. I suppose I just… wanted to see someone who… understood." She trailed off near the end, and Michael relaxed, nodding in understanding. He sat down on the edge of the concrete, and Helen mimicked him, melting into something that could loosely be considered a sitting position.

"It's… hard, being like this. As if… there's some small part of me, trapped below the surface, that's still human. That resents being… this way." Helen started haltingly, and Michael recognized the strained emotion in her voice. Even at his most lucid, in the initial weeks after he'd become part of the Distortion, it was difficult to express any sort of emotion, like he was fighting an uphill battle to retain his humanity. He tried not to think about that time, often. 

"There's… an urge. To feed, I suppose you'd call it. Several times, I've almost lured people into my hallways, but I can… never follow through. Even if I do, I let them go. Something about it feels  _ wrong _ ." She murmurs, and Michael nods slowly, staring down at his hands. The bleeding had almost stopped, but the scratches were still red and angry, and blood stained his pale skin.

"I get it. It feels like every last bit of humanity you have is revolting against what you've become." He glances over at her, and her cheeks are wet, tears like melted wax staining her tan skin. She slowly flexes her hands, as if unable to comprehend the way they look, stretched out and bony, points jutting out in all the wrong places. 

"Does it get better, Michael? I would… almost prefer to become what you were, at the end, than to stay like this. I do not think I can go back to being human, even you were not able to, not fully. But I think becoming a monster would be better than this. It  _ hurts _ , Michael" Her voice echoes slightly, overlaid with static, as if someone had recorded it twice over, then played it back.

"It did, eventually. It stopped hurting, but… I stopped feeling. Even now, I can remember it. I stopped thinking like a person, I abandoned  _ myself _ . There were… parts that stayed, like my hatred for Gertrude. I recognized some people from the Institute, but I didn't  _ know  _ them. It was… like a dream. Where you recognize faces, and things, but everything is distorted." He chuckles softly, the sound devoid of humor. "Pun not intended."

Helen is silent for a long moment, and he has to check to make sure she hasn't left. Eventually, she sighs, form skipping like a VHS tape as she stands. "Thank you, Michael. I am… sorry, for holding you up. I'm sure your Archivist is waiting for you." She pauses, smiling ruefully at him.

"I think I will keep fighting a little longer. I do not want to become a monster quite yet." Michael nods, pushing himself to his feet, wincing at the grit of dust and tiny rocks in his wounds. 

"Oh, ah, Helen? One more thing…" She turns from where she had been about to disappear into her doorway, raising an eyebrow. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I'm… kind of lost. Could you-?" Helen laughs, the sound flowing like water, and Michael knows that if he had not been tied to the Spiral himself at one point, it would have echoed like a migraine in his skull.

"Of course." She closes her door, and a moment later, the world twists and distorts around him, melting into the hallway in front of him and Jon's hotel room. He takes a deep breath, opening the door, and comes face to face with a disheveled Jon. The taller man blinks at him, taking a step back.

"Where the  _ fuck  _ have you been?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you: helen would hate michael because he made her what she is  
> me, a fucking idiot: she'd go to him for advice because he knows what she's going through  
> this chapter ran the FUCK away from me?? my original plan was for michael to have a run in with the desolation but. that obviously didn't work out 💔
> 
> tongues and teeth - the crane wives
> 
> find me on tumblr @/mike--crew!! i dont know why i keep plugging my tumblr since im not active atm but whatever 🤡


	7. open my chest and colour my spine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She- she wanted to ask me if it got easier. If the pain went away."
> 
> Jon took a slow breath, carefully considering before he replied. Michael's breaths were getting slightly shaky, and his eyes were misty. 
> 
> "And… did it?" Michael was silent for a long moment, before slowly nodding. 
> 
> "It did. But, so did um- so did I. Everything that made me… myself went away. Until there was nothing left but… but my name, and even that wasn't mine anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapters a lil shorter than the others, sorry! head empty no thoughts.

Jon stares at a slightly confused looking Michael for a moment, before pulling him inside the room. He stumbles slightly, caught off guard, but lets himself be grabbed.

"I just- I went for a walk. It was only supposed to be, I don't know, maybe an hour at most?" Jon fumbles for words momentarily, throwing his hands in the air.

"An  hour ? Michael, it's nine thirty at night!" The other man blinks, eyes going wide. He starts to speak several times, before finally snapping his mouth shut, looking taken aback. He stares down at his hands in his lap, and for the first time, Jon notices the blood dripping sluggishly from several long cuts along his palm.

"Shit, what happened?" He digs the spare first aid kit out of his suitcase, grabbing Michael's wrist and tugging the injured hand towards him. Michael let him, only wincing slightly when Jon dabbed disinfectant on the wound.

"I uh- I don't know. I fell, I guess." He shrugs weakly, hissing sharply at the sting. "I didn't really notice it." Jon fixes him with an unimpressed stare. He's not sure if it's the Eye, or just his own built in bullshit detector, but he knows there's more to the story than that.

"Michael," He starts, compulsion leaking into his voice with a hiss of static. " What happened ?" He regrets it almost immediately, even as part of him preens at the use of his power, relishes the way it fills him with a sick sort of pride.

Michael goes slightly stiff, sighing. "I saw Helen. She did something to the street I was walking on, isolated me so it was just us. She wanted advice on how to deal with… becoming the Spiral. The cuts on my hand are from when she helped me up, I fell when I first saw her."

He shudders slightly, eyes turning a greyish teal color as he hunches in on himself slightly. Jon is silent as he wraps Michael's hand with gauze, mentally cursing his burnt hand as it shakes. He finishes bandaging Michael's cuts, then steps back, releasing his hand. 

"Sorry for- for that. I can't really… control it very well at the moment." Michael quickly shakes his head, offering Jon a shaky smile.

"Oh, it's fine. It just feels  weird ." He laughs. "It just caught me off guard, I suppose. And, I don't think Helen didn't mean to hurt me, just for the record. It's kind of hard  not  to hurt someone with uh- knife hands." He chuckles weakly, drumming his fingers absently on his thighs.

"Yes, I can imagine." Jon pauses, frowning to himself. "You said Helen sought you out for advice?" Michael nods, drawing his knees up to his chest.

"Yes. There's um- when you… turn into the Spiral- in my experience- there's this period, between when you first get… fed to it, and when you become… what I was. Where it's like- like you're fighting what you're becoming, but you can't escape it. She- she wanted to ask me if it got easier. If the pain went away."

Jon took a slow breath, carefully considering before he replied. Michael's breaths were getting slightly shaky, and his eyes were misty. 

"And… did it?" Michael was silent for a long moment, before slowly nodding. 

"It did. But, so did um- so did I. Everything that made me… myself went away. Until there was nothing left but… but my name, and even that wasn't  mine  anymore." He sniffles, wiping his eyes with the back of a hand.

"Michael, I'm- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." Jon tentatively puts a hand on Michael's shoulder, ready to pull it back if the other man flinches away, but he does the opposite instead, leaning into Jon's touch. 

"I'm sorry, it's um- hard to talk about. It's  good  for me to talk about it, in-instead of internalizing it all, but it still hurts to… to remember." Jon nods, slowly wrapping his arms fully around Michael, giving him time to pull away, but Michael immediately hugs him back, fisting his hands in the material of Jon's dress shirt. His shoulders shake, and Jon freezes for a moment, before quickly maneuvering them so they're both on the bed, letting Michael bury his face in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm- it's just… seeing Helen- knowing that  I  did that to her-" Jon cuts him off with a soft noise, hesitantly stroking Michael's hair. 

"No, no, it wasn't your fault, Michael. You said it yourself, what you were wasn't the real you. You didn't have any control over that, okay?" He feels Michael nod against him, but he doesn't move. Eventually, his breathing evens out, but he still stays tucked against Jon, breath ghosting across Jon's skin.

If he's being honest, Jon doesn't mind it. The physical contact is nice, and Michael usually shrinks away from his touch. It's a welcome change. They stay like that for a while longer, before Michael pulls away, coughing awkwardly.

"Sorry about… that. I didn't, um-" Jon shakes his head, cutting him off.

"It's alright, Michael. Really. You obviously needed that. It's a lot better than not talking about it at all, I know that from experience. Thank you for telling me." Michael nods, laughing wetly as he wipes his face. Just as Jon remembers, his tears shine with colorful fractals, not bright enough to stand out, just enough to notice if he looks close enough.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He pauses. "I'm gonna go get a drink, you wanna come with?" Jon glances at the clock, raising an eyebrow. 

"At 10pm?" Michael shrugs, standing from the bed, and Jon finds himself missing the closeness already.

"Yeah, absolutely. I just had a mini mental breakdown, I'm entitled to some alcohol. Like I said, you wanna come with me?" Jon studies him for a long moment; his red eyes, the slightly opalescent tears still staining his cheeks, the humorless smile on his lips.

"Yeah, sure." Jon shrugs, standing up and walking towards the door. "Just remember, we have a flight in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was originally gonna have a Tender Yearning Moment but they're both too repressed for that so instead they're going drinking
> 
> wolves without teeth - of monsters and men
> 
> come find me on tumblr @/mike--crew and on twitter @/gerrykeays !


	8. my memories are wilting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael rests his chin on his hand, focusing on taming the swirling blush rising on his cheeks. Jon, mercifully, doesn't seem to notice. He studies the other man out of the corner of his eye, absently drumming his fingers on the counter. If Michael was a little more drunk, he'd be seriously tempted to lean over and kiss him.
> 
> Hold on, what the hell? He blinks, startled by his own thoughts. When did he start thinking of Jon like that? Until that moment, it had never even occurred to him, but now that he thinks about it, he absolutely wants to kiss the other man. Of course. Now he has to deal with a crush on top of everything else clamoring for attention in his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is LATE and it is BAD and i am SORRY

Michael holds back a cough at the burn of whiskey in his throat, savoring the way the heat sinks into his bones. Jon sits next to him at the bar, quietly working on his own drink. The silence between them is heavy, but not uncomfortable. A mutual sort of understanding.

That, or a mutual desire to get drunk. Jon had ranted to him as they walked down the street towards the closest bar, gesturing widely. If he's being honest, Michael didn't catch most of it. Something about statements, and Gertrude, and a ship. All he really understood is that they were taking a detour to America before they headed back to London. 

In all his travels with Gertrude, Michael had never actually been to America before. He's actually somewhat surprised at that fact, if he's being honest, with how often Gertrude seemed to take trips there. Still, better late than never, he supposes. Beside him, Jon sighs, taking another drink of whiskey.

As they sit there, Michael examines the bandages wrapped around his hand. There’s a slight twinge of pain as he opens and closes it, the long, thin cuts Helen had left behind stretching with the movement. If he stares long enough, he swears he can see a flicker of movement, color shimmering below the skin as his fingers elongate and sharpen, a tangled mess of too many bones, shoved into an approximation of a human hand. Michael blinks, and it's back to normal. If he had a mirror, he'd be able to see the kaleidoscope of color swirling across his irises, yellow and green and red mixing like watercolors. 

Jon must sense the spiral, (pun not intended), that his thoughts are going down, because he reaches over, tangling their fingers together. Michael startles, glancing at him with wide eyes. Jon cups Michael’s cheek with his free hand, and the intensity of his gaze almost has him shrinking away. 

  
“You’re thinking so loud I can hear it from over here.” Jon sounds amused, but sympathetic. Michael, however, is too focused on the feeling of Jon’s hand on his cheek to process it. For a few seconds, Michael’s entire being is narrowed down to the two points of contact. Jon’s hand feels incredibly heavy in his, and he blinks stupidly at Jon, alcohol slowing his system even more than usual.

"I- uh- yeah. Sorry. Just uh- thinkin' about… stuff." He nods decisively, like that'll salvage the situation. Jon laughs, letting go of Michael's hand to take another drink of whiskey, and he lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

Michael rests his chin on his hand, focusing on taming the swirling blush rising on his cheeks. Jon, mercifully, doesn't seem to notice. He studies the other man out of the corner of his eye, absently drumming his fingers on the counter. If Michael was a little more drunk, he'd be seriously tempted to lean over and kiss him.

Hold on, what the hell? He blinks, startled by his own thoughts. When did he start thinking of Jon like  _ that _ ? Until that moment, it had never even occurred to him, but now that he thinks about it, he absolutely wants to kiss the other man. Of course. Now he has to deal with a  _ crush  _ on top of everything else clamoring for attention in his mind. 

His thoughts are interrupted by Jon nudging him, catching his attention. He blinks, glancing over with a soft  _ huh?  _ Jon doesn't say anything, silently inclining his head towards someone in the corner. Michael glances towards them, only to find them staring back at the two of them. He accidentally makes eye contact, and a wave of dry heat rolls over him. He quickly looks away, back towards Jon.

Jon mouths the word 'Desolation' at him, and Michael nods. He leaves a bill on the counter and stands, leaving Michael to follow suit. The blonde glances back, sucking in a breath as the avatar stands up as well, starting to tail the two.

"We can't go back to the hotel, it'll put the other patrons in danger." Jon hisses to him, and Michael hums in agreement. His head starts to ache dully, the beginnings of a migraine pounding in the back of his skull. He ignores it, searching his mind for a way to shake the avatar. Nothing immediately comes to mind, and he swears softly to himself.

"Please leave us alone!" He calls back, only getting a dry, malicious laugh in response. Despite the situation, Jon snorts, and Michael shrugs weakly. His headache is starting to build, and he winces.

Michael realizes too late that they'd been backed into a corner, sucking in a breath as he's confronted with a dead end alleyway. Behind them, the avatar laughs, and Michael immediately steps in front of Jon.

"Archivist," The avatar's voice is rough, dripping with barely concealed anger. "I've been waiting to get my hands on you for a while.

"I am not the one you're looking for. Gertrude was the one who stopped your ritual, she's dead." Jon's tone is surprisingly steady, considering the circumstances. 

"Yeah? I suppose killing you won't be as satisfying, then, but it'll still feel  _ good _ ." The avatar takes another couple of steps towards them, and Michael's lip curls, a sound he distantly recognizes as an odd sort of growl echoing in his throat. Jon's fingers brush against his wrist, and he can hear the other man murmur his name, but he ignores it.

"I see you've got a guard dog, then." The avatar laughs again, reaching towards Michael, presumably to push him out of the way. He reacts without thinking, shoving the other man back, and away. He feels wax shift and split under his hand, and the avatar staggers back. There's a creak, and a familiar yellow door opens underneath him. He only gets out a startled yelp before he disappears into the ground. 

A second later, Helen pokes her head out, smiling slightly.

“Hello, boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i KNOW this chapter is bad im sorry :( ive had writers block for a While, plus we recently moved across the country (just got into the new house last night, as of posting this) so thats not been helping :/  
> hopefully theres not too many typos but i wrote this in a moving car. so.

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't related to the fic but i want everyone to know that the title for this in my google docs is "'oh, worms' - jane prentiss"


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